


Mean Machine

by DirtyKnots



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Deputy Derek Hale, Dirty Talk, First Time, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Object Insertion, Object Penetration, Power Bottom Derek Hale, Rimming, Unsafe Sex, Werewolf Reveal, implied versatile, mild D/s themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyKnots/pseuds/DirtyKnots
Summary: CuriousCat Anonymous Prompt: So hey, imagine a 22yo Derek rolling into town before Laura comes back. Leather jacket, tight jeans, sitting on a Harley like he was born to ride one. Pulls up at the Sheriff's station just as a freshly 16yo Stiles is leaving after bringing his Dad lunch.Derek glares & tries to look unfriendly, but all that Stiles can think of is how he wants to be that Harley & have Derek ride him.Turns out, the seat is big enough to also fit him, and Derek very much likes to get come all over the leather and metal while Stiles fucks him silly.Stiles is only left wondering if they could go for a drive like that. ;)





	Mean Machine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pleasurific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasurific/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a short porn without plot. Instead you get nearly 4k words. Someone please have a talk with my brain about how nice it is to obey the rules I set for it.

It's not Stiles’ fault that he face-planted onto the sidewalk outside the sheriff's station. It's not. Really. If anything, it's the fault of the man on the motorcycle, jeans so tight Stiles isn't sure they aren't painted on. The Harley had made plenty of noise as he'd backed it into the motorcycle spot just in front of the station, enough to draw the attention of everyone in the area, but it wasn't until the man swing his leg over and showcased his ass that Stiles went sprawling. To be fair, it's probably not the man's fault that his ass looks so edible, but he should know better than to inflict it on unsuspecting, ever horny high schoolers.

The man whips around, thick eyebrows drawn down into a scowl, lips pursed and framed by stubble that Stiles thinks might feel interesting rubbing against certain parts of his body. The scowl deepens, like he's read Stiles’ thoughts. Or possible just listened to his words. One day, Stiles thinks, he'll be able to control his mouth enough that every thought he has doesn't automatically come flying out of it. Not today, obviously, but one day. Stiles stops trying to lift himself off the ground when he realizes that he'd only embarrassed himself further, instead rests his face back onto his arms and wonders how long it'll take to die from shame. It makes him miss the jingling of the station door, but unfortunately he can see the familiar boots that cross past him.

“Derek? Nice to meet you, Laura said you'd be headed in today. It's nice to finally meet you face to face, I'm John Stilinski.” Stiles’ dad's voice is light and friendly and not at all how he'd expect the sheriff to react to a menace on a motorcycle. The boots shuffle back a bit and turn. “This is my son. I'd say he's not usually like this, but I don't like to lie to my employees.”

Stiles groans and buries his head in his hands, still refusing to get up from where he's sprawled on the too hot concrete, so he doesn't hear whatever the man - Derek - says in reply. He waits where he's at until he hears two sets of boots pass by him, hears the familiar noises of the station as the door opens and closes, and then he finally crawls back to his feet. He spares one glance at the motorcycle, giving it his own scowl, and then he's stomping off to his jeep and heading home. If he'd known all this was going to happen, he would've just run the risk of his dad getting a cheeseburger instead of bringing him that salad.

***

By some divine grace, Stiles doesn't see Derek again for nearly a week. A blissful week of not making a giant ass of himself - well, no more than usual anyhow. That changes, of course, after lacrosse practice on Friday. It was a bad practice, Jackson was more of a dick than normal, and Stiles had taken one too many “accidental” hits. He was in a foul mood and his foot was probably - definitely - heavier on the gas pedal than it should've been. It's not surprising when he sees the flashing red and blue lights swing behind him, and he scowls but dutifully pulls to the side of the, thankfully mostly empty, road. His scowl deepens when he sees a familiar figure swing off the department's lone motorcycle.

“Seriously? Of course, of fucking course, it just has to be Deputy Sex-on-a-Stick. Fuck my life.” Things get worse when Derek - Deputy Hale - steps up to his window. He's got his own scowl in place and his face seems flushed. He doesn't speak at first, just standing outside the window and staring. Stiles fights his natural urge to speak and stares right back, arms crossing over his chest. It's unnerving, and weirdly hot, to be the focus of all that attention. He can feel himself hardening in his lacrosse shorts and he prays to every deity that Derek doesn't notice. He thinks he's praying in vain, especially when a slow smirk creeps across Derek's face. He leans down, arms resting on Stiles’ window, hands dangling inside the jeep.

“You were going pretty fast back there, in a hurry to get somewhere?” Derek's voice is softer than Stiles expected, and there's a curl of something almost teasing in it.

“Yep, home.” Stiles can't help the sarcastic tilt to his voice as he gestures at his uniform and backpack, as if the answer should've been obvious. He gets a raised brow in return as Derek looks him over, eyes flicking briefly to the backpack before settling on Stiles’ body, head tilted so it looks like he's staring at Stiles’ crotch. Stiles can feel his semi twitch and his face flames, especially when he sees Derek smirk again. 

“Something important to take care of, huh? So urgent you couldn't stick to the speed limit?” Derek's voice is definitely teasing now and Stiles clears his throat but he's at a loss for words. “Just this once, given your...obvious situation, I'll let you go with a warning. Try to keep yourself contained next time.” Derek pats the roof of the jeep as he straightens and heads back to his motorcycle, Stiles watching in his side view mirror. 

“Keep you contained.” It's a mumble just as Derek's reaching the bike, and if Stiles didn't know better, he'd swear Derek stiffened up just a bit like he'd heard. But that's impossible. Stiles keeps watching, enjoying the way the uniform pants stretch tight over Derek's crotch, the way he lifts his ass up to adjust his position once he's straddled the seat. “Jesus, does he realizes it's a motorcycle and not a cock. He's obscene.” Derek's head whips up at that, and despite the fact that Stiles knows it's impossible that Derek heard what he said, he flushes with embarrassment again, hand reaching to adjust himself in his shorts before starting the jeep. He resolutely doesn't look when he hears the rumble of Derek's bike as it passes, just carefully checks his mirrors and puts his blinker on despite the deserted road. 

Thankfully he makes it home without any further incidents. 

***

Stiles gets exactly one day's reprieve before his father upends his life.

“You want me to what now?” Stiles’ mouth trips over the words, eyes wide and hands flailing.

“Deputy Hale needs some help clearing out his old family garage and I want you to go help him. He's still new in town.” The sheriff's tone doesn't leave too for argument but Stiles tries anyhow.

“But daaaad,” it's a wheedling sort of whine, “I have plans already. It's Saturday!”

“Sitting around in your boxers eating junk food and playing video games with Scott is not a plan Stiles.”

“But-”

“No. No butts. I already know he's let you out of a speeding ticket,” Stiles sputters but his father barrels on over him, “and the least you can do is go help the man clear out some boxes. Get dressed. Go now.”

Stiles fish-mouths a few times but his father just raises a brow and he gives in, knowing there's no point in arguing. He stomps up the stairs, muttering all the way, ignoring the half-hearted 'language’ his dad yells out to him - it's just a guess on his dad's part anyhow. He gets dressed quickly and snatches up his keys. He makes a point to stomp down the stairs, ignoring the eye roll that gets from his dad. He's smart enough to politely accept the directions before stomping out the door - smart enough again not to slam it. 

He cools off some on the drive, mostly because he can't hold onto his irritation and also keep the jeep on the road while reading the directions. The drive is actually kind of nice, if he's honest - the road winds through the edges of the preserve and the trees are full and green after all the rain they've had. The house he's going to is set way back in the trees, and Stiles can tell it's under some sort of construction when he gets closer. There's plastic sheeting in place of several windows and some of the facing appears charred. It Sparks a memory in Stiles from when he was younger, and he suddenly feels a lot more contrite when he realizes that the house is being rebuilt because a fire had mostly destroyed it, and killed most of the occupants. The Hales. Derek's family. Whatever lingering anger he'd had about being sent here evaporates.

The garage is set apart a bit from the house and Stiles angles the jeep towards it. The main door is pulled closed, but Stiles can see a side door that's been left open. He turns off the jeep and slides out, heading toward the open door. The garage only has tiny windows up near the top, so Stiles can't see anything as he makes his way around the side. There's the faint sounds of music so Stiles doesn't bother calling out as he rounds the door, but he thinks maybe he should have.

He stops dead in the doorway, mouth dropped at the sight before him. Because Derek is in there, but not at all how Stiles expected him to be. Stiles takes in the scene as rapidly as his brain can process: the blankets and furniture pads lining the floor, Derek's Harley tipped carefully on its side on them, handles curving out from the body of the bike. None of that is what stopped him though. Instead, he's drawn back to Derek - naked and perched on the side of the bike facing away, body glistening with sweat as he rocks back and forth, the rubbered end of the motorcycle's handlebar being swallowed by that perfect ass. Stiles feels like he's on fire, body thrumming hard with want as he watches the stretch and drag of Derek's rim as he impales himself back down on the handlebar, his cock going from 0 to rock hard faster than he can blink. 

“Enjoying - ah - the show? Mmmm.” Derek's voice startles him out of his reverie and Stiles jolts, feeling guilty for intruding. The feeling doesn't last long though when Stiles sweeps his gaze around the garage, trying to be respectful even though it's too late. Mostly because he realizes the garage is pretty clean - no boxes to be sorted, no mess at all really. When he turns back to Derek, his eyes are narrowed in thought.

“That's what this is, isn't it? My own private show?” He sounds more confident than he feels, despite the clear evidence that Derek didn't need his help cleaning this place up. He only hesitates a second before stepping closer, stops hesitating altogether when it just makes Derek rock against the handle a little faster.

“What - unf - what clued you in?”

“You're pretty mouthy for a guy who's currently fucking a motorcycle.” Stiles smirks when Derek huffs out a laugh. He keeps moving until he's as close as he can get without straddling the downed bike. It's almost overwhelming, being so close. Stiles can see the lube glistening in the light, the thick coat still clinging to the handle as Derek slides his ass over it. He doesn't even think before he's leaving over, one palm low on Derek's back for balance, the other hand reaching out to pull at one of Derek's cheeks, stretching him wider, getting a better view. He doesn't mistake the groan it elicits, especially not when he leans even further, breath ghosting over Derek's spread out pucker. Derek's movements slow as Stiles’ face closes the distance, tongue flicking out against his rim.

“Fuck!” Derek's shout is loud in the garage and it makes Stiles smile, repeating the action. Derek's stopped moving but it's okay. The angle is awkward, he won't be able to keep it up, but he can't stop himself from twisting his face down closer, feeling the rasp of hair from Derek's ass as he rubs his face against it, lapping softly at his hole. The lube doesn't taste good, neither does the rubber, but he likes it anyhow. When Derek shifts away, Stiles stumbles, trying to keep his mouth on him, Derek's hand reaching back with a firmer grip than he expected the only thing that keeps him up. He pulls away reluctantly after that, watches as Derek carefully scoots forward, a little amazed at his balance.

“C'mere, sit on the bike behind me.” Derek tugs at Stiles’ hip, pushes a little. He's less graceful but manages to straddle the machine behind Derek without braining himself on anything. It puts his face at just the right height when Derek lifts back up onto his knees, and he doesn't waste any time leaning forward, pulling Derek's cheeks apart and pushing his face back between them. It sounds obscene when he sucks on Derek's hole, pushes his tongue through it to lick at him. Derek's moans join the slurps and squelches, the bike creaking beneath them as he rocks back against Stiles’ face.

“Hoped you'd like what you saw. Was pretty sure, the way you smelled every time I got near you. Didn't expect you to be so enthusiastic though. But god, look at you, eating my ass like you can't get enough. Want to ride your face one day, push you down and sit on it. Bet you'd love it.” Derek's words penetrate the haze Stiles is floating under and he draws back, nips gently at Derek's rim, liking the way it makes him shudder.

“Dirty men who fuck their motorcycles because their hole is needy don't get to judge anyone for enjoying the show. Or for wanting to taste their hole.” Derek snorts at that and Stiles nips his hole again.

“Only wanting to taste it?”

“Uh…” Stiles trails off because his brain goes in too many directions to make a choice on what to say, but luckily Derek fills the sudden silence.

“Or maybe they want to fuck it too, hmm? Get their cock out and slide right on in. It's almost as wet as a pussy after all that sloppy making out with it you did. Bet you wouldn't even have to add any lube.” Derek rocks back as he speaks, his hole winking at Stiles and making his brain short circuit even further.

“I...uh...condoms. I don't have…”

“Don't need 'em. I'm clean, just got tested for the department. And I can smell that you're a virgin.”

“Hey, how, you don't know-” Stiles sputters a little, indignant.

“Didn't say it bothered me. C'mon Stiles, don't you want to fuck me? Or maybe you just want to watch me fuck myself some more.” Derek starts shifting backwards, and Stiles shifts back too, barely missing hitting his head on the still-wet handlebar as he shifts sideways more to avoid it. Stiles has no idea how Derek can be moving back so quickly without slipping on the motorcycle, it's not like it's flat or even really designed to have anyone on it when it's on its side, but he manages, his ass just parting around the rubber, swallowing it up. And Stiles’ can't move, eyes wide and glued to where Derek's fucking himself on the handlebar again, body rocking in a faster rhythm than before.

“Jesus, look at you. You love it don't you?” Stiles’ voice is a little reverent and a lot breathy, and he reaches out to stroke along Derek's cleft and over his hole, enjoying the way it makes him ripple around the handle. It spurs him further, dropping his hands to undo his jeans and free his leaking cock, pushing at Derek until he gets the message and slides free again. “Scoot up a little, turn around.”

Derek obeys more easily than Stiles expected, helping him scoot forward too until the end of the handlebar is brushing his cheek. The sticky wetness against his face makes his cock leak harder. His hands slip up to Derek's hips, somehow helping balance him as he climbs into Stiles’ lap, his hole catching briefly on Stiles’ cock before he takes a breath and sits down hard. The unexpected heat and pressure of being in Derek's ass makes Stiles cry out and tighten his grip. Derek chuckles at him, the movement making both of them moan softly even as Stiles narrows his eyes, unhappy at being laughed at.

Instead of saying anything, he uses his grip to help Derek rise up before yanking him back down hard, grinding up to meet Derek's ass. It makes Derek throw his head back, a louder moan escaping and giving Stiles a reason to smirk.

“Like that? Too bad. You wanted to sit on my dick, then you can do the work. Ride me.” The strange confidence is back and Stiles doesn't question it, just lets the words tumble from his mouth as he leans back, bracing himself. He doesn't really intend to let Derek do all the work, but he braces himself better so he can lift his hips every time Derek drops back down, meeting him thrust for thrust. He's already close much sooner than he wants to be, Derek wasn't wrong when he pegged Stiles as a virgin, and Derek's ass is still tight and hot and wet, despite all the time he spent fucking the motorcycle's handlebar. The thought gives him pause and he grips Derek's hips again, squeezing a little to get his attention.

“I think you should suck your dildo off while you ride me. After all, it did such nice work getting you ready for me.” Stiles’ voice wavers a little but he pretends not to notice. Derek's brow raises but it doesn't mask the way his pupils dilate further, can't hide the twitch of his cock. “Go on, suck on it like it's my cock. You know you want to.” Stiles leans forward to whisper the words in Derek's ear, feels the catch in his breath, before he settles back, tilting his body a little further to the side so he can watch as Derek wraps his mouth around the end of the handlebar, lips stretching obscenely as he starts to suck on it.

The movement has lifted Derek halfway off of Stiles’ cock, so he braces himself as best as he can to start thrusting up, the force rocking Derek and pushing his mouth further down the handle. It's downright pornographic and Stiles thinks he might say so. Thinks maybe he's babbling because seeing this man spread out over him, his cock disappearing into Derek, Derek's lips stretched and shiny as he sucks on the handlebar that had been in his own ass, has killed any brain to mouth filter Stiles might have had. He knows he's taking, but he can't even focus on the words, gaze flitting between Derek's mouth and his own lap, hand reaching up to finally grasp Derek's cock, stroking in time to his own thrusts.

The garage is filled with the wet sounds of fucking and sucking, the slap of skin on skin, the jingle of Stiles’ belt against his leg, the grunts and moans they can't keep contained. Stiles holds on as long as he can, but it's all too much overload, his body has been burning with need since he walked in and he comes after just a few minutes more, back bowed as he arches hard into the thrust. Derek rides him through it, mouth popping free from the handle as he plants his hands and sits back, riding Stiles harder, thrusting into his slackened grip as he chases his own orgasm. It helps snap Stiles back, just a bit, and he tightens his hand, moving it counterpoint until Derek is tensing over him, come splattering Stiles’ hand and shirt.

They both wince when Derek shifts off of Stiles’ lap and his softening cock slips free. Derek wobbles a bit as he stands before regaining his balance and helping Stiles up. It feels awkward and tense until Derek draws Stiles into his arms, pulling him down gently on to another pile of furniture pads and blankets. Derek lays on his back and tugs until Stiles is sprawled over him, cock still flopped out of his jeans, sticky where it meets Derek's skin. It should feel like too much, but it settles something in Stiles, being so casually intimate. They lay there for awhile in the quiet, their breathing evening out, bodies relaxing. They're both nearly asleep when something occurs to Stiles.

“Hey, what did you mean that you could smell that I was a virgin?” Derek's hand tightens on Stiles’ waist and he takes a deep breath.

“If you want to do this again, there's probably something I should tell you.” Derek sounds hesitant for the first time tonight and it makes Stiles wary.

“Something bad?”

“No. Not bad at all.” Derek's voice evens out a little and he presses a soft kiss to Stiles’ head and it reassures him.

“Okay.” Stiles presses his own kiss to Derek's chest, right against his nipple, and has to resist the urge to take the bud into his mouth, especially when he feels Derek's breath catch. Instead he tilts his face up until he can meet Derek's gaze, encouraging him to talk. Derek takes a deep breath, holding Stiles’ gaze.

“What do you know about werewolves?” Before Stiles can laugh or ask if Derek is serious, the man's eyes flash red, and for the fourth time in less than a month, Stiles’ world tilts on its axis.

“Nothing at all.” Stiles’ voice sounds steady, and he's surprised just a bit to realize he's not scared or disturbed, only curious. He can see something that looks like awe in Derek's gaze and it's heavy and too much right now, so he gives in to his earlier urge, turning his face and latching onto Derek's nipple, sucking hard. “I think we should have round two and you do that thing you said you wanted to do earlier - you know, the thing with your ass on my face - and then you can tell me all about them. About you.”

Stiles will later refuse to admit that he squawked when Derek flipped their positions (cradling Stiles’ head so he didn't hurt it when he landed on his back) and sat on his face. His voice was too muffled for Derek to prove it anyhow.

**Author's Note:**

> Come prompt me on [CuriousCat](https://curiouscat.me/dirtyknots).  
> All of my additional contact information can be found on my [Profile Page](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyKnots/profile)!


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